Human Defense Corps: Spaced Out
by Fate8
Summary: Members of the Human Defense Corps go on a mission, only to find out some things are not as they seem. Reviews always appreciated!
1. Chapter 1

Sergeant First Class Eric Lambert walked down the shiny bright halls of the Pentagon. He was wearing his dress uniform, which felt uncomfortable, like it belonged on someone else. Staffers and bureaucrats skittered out of his way, many of them casting wary glances at the soldier. Even officers gave Lambert a wide berth once they got a look at his chest full of medals and the combat patch which adorned his right shoulder, the unique insignia of the Human Defense Corps. Lambert smiled to himself. He was in unknown territory here, amongst the REMF's and pencil pushers. It did not hurt that Lambert was a big man, roped with muscle, and had one of the more intimidating stares most people had ever seen.

Lambert was edgy because he wasn't exactly sure why he was here. Yesterday, he had been on a training mission deep in the jungles of Central America, when he got fresh orders to report to General Evan McCallister, the HDC commander, in Washington D.C. Whisked from slogging though impenetrable tropical undergrowth to a metropolitan city in a matter of hours was slightly disorienting, even for one as adaptable to changing situations as Lambert.

He halted outside of McCallister's office, his egress blocked by the General's secretary, a pretty, blond female sergeant who pretended not to notice Lambert standing in front of her desk for several moments. Finally, she looked up from her paperwork, and regarded him with a challenging eye. "May I help you, Sergeant"? she asked.

"I have been ordered to report to General McCallister," replied Lambert. "He is expecting me in…" He glanced at a clock hanging on the wall overhead. "…Thirty seconds." The sergeant checked her calendar, Lambert's name and I.D. badge, the buzzed the General on the intercom. "Please, Sergeant, go right in," she said at last, smiling sweetly. Lambert doubted the expression was genuine. He had seen similar grins on the faces of sharks right before they devoured their latest meal.

General Evan McCallister was sitting behind his own huge oaken desk. He was a graying bear of a man, whose sheer force of will, and ranting tirades were legend throughout the Corps. He would also back his soldiers with every ounce of pull and influence the old warrior could muster, borrow or steal, and his troops knew that, too. The easiest way to start a fight with a group of HD Corpsmen was to say something unflattering about General McCallister.

Lambert walked in, and came to attention in front of his commanding officer. "Sergeant First Class Eric Lambert reporting as ordered, sir," barked Lambert smartly.

"At ease, Sergeant," said McCallister, waving Lambert into a nearby seat. "Do you know why you're here?"

"No sir," said Lambert. During the trip to Washington, he had gone over all of the things he could have fucked up bad enough to warrant getting called on the carpet in front of the C.O., but he had drawn a blank. Unless it was that situation with the Thanagarian proconsul's daughter, but that had been over a year ago.

"You are being reassigned," said McCallister, "effective immediately." He pushed a large file folder toward Lambert. "Your new orders and an extensive briefing are included inside. You can go over them in your own time, but I wanted to speak to you face to face. Your new mission is a somewhat delicate matter." This statement piqued Lambert's interest, and he hunched forward slightly in his seat, and paid even more attention to McCallister's words, if that were possible.

"S.T.A.R. Labs was recently contacted by representatives from the Psion race. The Psions want to engineer a trade between themselves and Earth. I do not trust the scaly bastards any further than I could toss a battle cruiser, but the guys in the white lab coats want a look at what they are offering."

"Sir, what are they offering, and why contact S.T.A.R. Labs and not the government?" asked Lambert.

"The Psions fancy themselves scientists, and so they contacted the most advanced widespread scientific organization on the planet, which happens to be S.T.A.R. Labs," said McCallister. "Once the eggheads found out who they were dealing with, they called us. As to what they're offering, you may or may not know, the Psions have a nasty history of experimenting on other races and species, including humans. The claim to have developed a number of bio-upgrades which will make the average person, smarter, stronger, faster, all that stuff."

"And what will they want in return, sir?"

"That is the big question," said McAllister . "S.T.A.R. Labs is sending someone to check out the Psion's claims, and try to get a clear picture as to what exactly they want, and if what they are offering is worth the price."

"No diplomats, sir?"

"Psions won't talk to them. They say only another scientist will understand, and as it happens, the best scientist in the field of human-alien hybrid physiology, works for S.T.A.R. Labs. She, of course, agreed to meet with the Psions before we could intervene, and now those walking crocodiles will only deal with Dr. Hardin."

"Ah," said Lambert. "Sir, I still don't know why I am here."

"Khunds," said McCallister.

"Khunds," repeated Lambert.

"Our new scaly friends are bringing along a contingent of Khunds to act as their security force. We don't know if they are mercenaries or if the Khund Empire is in league with the Psions. We'd like for you to find that out. Since Dr. Hardin is to be in charge of the mission, there cannot be any high-ranking members of the military to go along, since the Khunds and the Psions will both assume such a person is in charge of the entire operation."

"Shouldn't they be, sir?"

"Yes," said McCallister flatly, "but it's not our call. You were chosen for the mission because of your impeccable combat record and experience. I've looked over your record, Sergeant, you've had some familiarity with the Khunds."

"Had a couple of run-ins with them, sir," said Lambert. The Khunds were an aggressive warrior race that delighted in warfare and interstellar conquest. Lambert's confrontations with the Khunds had included repelling an incursion into the Marshall Islands, and fighting off a Khund mercenary force which had landed in Chicago. They were tough bastards, big, ugly and mean, with a mindset that would put Attila the Hun to shame. His recollections of the fighting were jumbled, as the fog of war tended to descend rather quickly when everyone was shooting, and things began to explode.

"I can see that," said McCallister. "You will be able to handpick your security team. You get six men. Choose them carefully."

"Will that be enough, sir? Do we know how many Khunds and Psions are coming?"

"No," replied McCallister. "And make no mistake, Sergeant, I will not allow those aliens to set foot or claw on Earth. Even being inside the solar system can be problematic. Their presence can make some of out metahuman friends a little twitchy."

"So, if I may ask, sir, where are we going to meet them?"

"The Corps has been developing, in conjunction with the DEO, a new sort of beam technology, based on plans from the old JLA transporter tubes. The boys in the lab figure that with a boost from the Psions, we should be able to get your team a little bit past Mars, and onto a Psion shuttlecraft. That ship will take you to the rendezvous point with the Psion mother ship, which will be stationed inside the rings of Saturn."

Lambert visibly swallowed. He had signed up with the Human Defense Corps to help protect Earth, and he knew that he would see some far out shit, but he never expected to be beamed across space, and become the guest of an alien race a few million miles from home. _Nothing is ever simple_, he thought. "Yes, sir," he said, as if the information he had just received was the most natural thing in the world. "When do we leave, sir?"

"You will have a few days to gather and brief your team, go through some last minute training to get you ready for space, and to meet the aliens, and have a nice little sit-down with Dr. Hardin to make sure everyone is one the same page. I should warn you, our reports indicate that Dr. Hardin is not enamored of having a military presence on the mission. However, you are to be mission ready in one week, understood?"

"Yes, sir," said Lambert, who knew a dismissal when he heard one. He stood to leave, and snapped to attention once again.

"Good luck, son," said McCallister.

"Thank you, sir," said Lambert, hefting his thick folder. He turned on his heel and left the office, his mind already playing over details and possibilities. Lambert pulled out his cell phone as soon as he was clear of the building. It was time to gather the team.


	2. The Team Gathers

Staff Sergeant Angus "Bull" Carver hopped out of the Humvee that had brought him to the front of a white, but otherwise nondescript building inside the secret U.S. government base deep within Area 51, which was located in a remote area of New Mexico. Carver was a huge man, standing at 6'5, with a gleaming bald head, and a bulky frame packed with muscle. He took a single look at his destination, and spit a stream of tobacco juice on the baking hot concrete. Carver had been to Area 51 a number of times, and none of them ended in any resemblance of a good time. Scowling, Carver hefted his duffel bag over his shoulder and walked inside.

Lambert, alerted that Bull Carver was on his way, met his old comrade at the door. The two had met during the initial formation of the Corps a few years ago, and had bonded over the intense training that followed. They had gone on a few early missions together, not all of them successful, and forged in the hard crucible of blood and pain was a friendship stronger than carbon steel. It would have been a useless cliché to say that each would give his life for the other, that was an unspoken given. What they had was something deeper, which defied Lambert's ability to articulate. It just was, and no more needed to be said.

"Hey, Bull," said Lambert as Carver tromped down the hallway. "You're late. Everyone else is already here."

"Fuck you, Lambert," snarled Carver. "You better have a goddamn good reason for calling me up. I was on vacation in Cabo." Bull did not come by his nickname through accident. He was abrasive, and at times downright ornery.

"Relax, big man," said Lambert. "I wouldn't have called you away from the senoritas and margaritas unless this was a big deal. Top secret stuff." Bull didn't look any less happy, but the top secret tag grabbed his attention.

"What is it?" asked Carver, lowering his voice as the two sergeants continued to walk deeper into the building.

"You'll know soon enough," replied Lambert. "Stow your gear in quarters, and come down to Meeting Room A. I'm going to give the whole team a briefing." Carver clomped toward the living area, his bag thrown over one massive shoulder. Lambert veered off to the left, and headed for the designated meeting room, where the rest of the team had already gathered and were waiting for him.

He pushed open the double doors and strolled through the entrance. At once, every eye turned toward him. Lambert surveyed the members of his security team, who had been spread out around the room and talking amongst themselves. With General McCallister's backing, he had no trouble getting them all released from their units for this particular mission, although their individual commanders certainly did not like losing their top soldiers, even temporarily. Lambert had worked with all of them at one time or another, some for a short time, and others for an extended period. He had hand-picked every member because of their unique specialties, and because he knew every one of them could be counted on if the shit hit the fan. And at some point, it usually did.

Sergeant Ray Jackson came from deep in the heart of Texas. He had been shooting firearms since he was old enough to aim and pull the trigger. That familiarity with weapons had carried over into his military career, where he became a small arms expert. Ray could assemble, disassemble and fire almost any weapon made on Earth, and a few that were of alien design. Lambert had seen his personal weapons collection, and it was enough to make a gun control activist keel over from heart failure on the spot.

Staff Sergeant Malcolm Evans knew how to blow things up. Besides normal military ordinance, Malcolm could make explosives out of nearly anything. It was scary to sit around and listen to him describe how easy it would be to make bombs out of stuff people just had lying around their home. Once on a mission to clean out a zombie infestation, their squad had been trapped and surrounded by the undead. Lambert had watched in awe as Evans concocted a bomb out of some chemicals they had found underneath a sink in an abandoned house. Lambert figured Evans was a good guy to have around if something needed exploding.

Staff Sergeant Gwen Miller was a classic case of how looks can be deceiving. She was by far the smallest member of the team, standing a full foot shorter, in combat boots, than Bull Carver. Miller made up for these physical shortcomings by excelling in the areas of tech and communications . Machismo was rampant in the Corps, as it was throughout any military organization, and Gwen had withstood any number of sexist comments and unwanted advances. Long ago, she decided to face these problems with a blunt and direct response that any knuckle-dragger could understand. A story circulated through the ranks of an officer who had tied one of Gwen's promotions to a batch of sexual favors. Miller, as legend has it, agreed to met the guy at a hotel room of her choosing. She got there early and wired the place with audio/visual. Once the creep arrived, Miller let him make a move, then proceeded to beat the shit out of the surprised officer. After leaving him bleeding on the carpet, Miller sent the feed of the incident to his wife, and also to everyone in the lecherous officer's unit, including his commanding officer. Lambert had never been able to determine if this story was absolutely true, but he believed it.

Sergeant Jared Pierce was the counterpart to Ray Jackson. He specialized in heavy weapons. Anything from a .50 caliber machine gun to the newest particle beam weapons were his special domain. He had been the last addition to Lambert's team, because they would not be taking any heavy weapons with them on their trip through the solar system. Pierce was added because Lambert firmly believed in preparing for any eventuality, and in the inevitability of Murphy's Law, that whatever could go wrong, would go wrong. The Khunds were sure to be packing heavy weapons of some sort, and Lambert wanted someone who implicitly understood their function and capabilities by his side.

Corporal John Lone Wolf was the youngest, and without a doubt, the quietest, member of the squad. There were time when Lone Wolf seemed to disappear, and even highly trained soldiers forgot he was in the same room. Lambert did not believe in a lot of mystical native mumbo-jumbo, but he did know that John had incredible combat instincts, and an uncanny tracking ability, which made him the best scout and recon man Lambert had ever seen. After Lone Wolf's first mission with the Corps, working off the post-combat jitters, and speaking in a shaky voice, he had told Lambert about his great-great -great grandfather, who had been a Cheyenne Dog Soldier. John was just carrying on an old family tradition. It was the most Lambert had ever heard Lone Wolf talk to anyone at one time. Even now, he sat away from the others, silent while they talked and joked, although a hint of amusement would cross his eyes every so often.

"Alright, Bull is on his way," said Lambert.

"How is my favorite bald mutant?" asked Evans.

"He was on vacation in Mexico when I called him," said Lambert. Everyone groaned and Gwen rolled her eyes upward.

"Great," said Jackson. "He'll be a peach to work with."

Carver busted through the doors, banging them off the walls, and generally making a typical "Bull" entrance. "My ears are burning," he said. "Which one of you faggots was talking about me?"

"That one," said Evans, pointing at Pierce. "He was giving us an earful about how he'd like to rub oil over your entire head until it glistened. It was disgusting."

"Fuck you," said Pierce and Carver at the same time.

"See," said Evans, shrugging his shoulders. "Those two were made for each other."

"Settle down," said Lambert. He waited for everyone to find a seat and focus their attention on him. "You all know you are here for a special mission. This is it…" He outlined their orders and specifications, and was not in the least surprised when he was interrupted.

"You dragged me off of leave for a goddamn babysitting job?" asked an incredulous Bull Carver.

"Sorry, Bull," said Lambert. "I thought about it for all of about two seconds, but I decided there was no one else I'd want at my back than someone meaner and uglier than the Khunds I'd be facing. Besides, if we went without you, you'd be mad at me for not taking you along." Carver sat back and flipped his hand in a dismissive gesture, but he couldn't deny the statement.

"What concerns me," said Miller, "is this beaming of our precious selves over space, and then trusting the Psions to take up the slack. Just how stable are these teleporters, and are they compatible with the alien tech?"

"The folks at S.T.A.R. Labs assure us that everything has been tested and is safe, within parameters," said Lambert.

"Heard that before," said Pierce, to murmurs of agreement.

"We'll have a couple of days of zero-grav training to get used to space conditions, should the need arise," continued Lambert. "Then a crash course on what we know about both Khunds and Psions, and how we should react to them. We'll also work out some tactical scenarios in case things get FUBAR. Then it's off into the wasteland. Any questions?"

"When does our fearless leader arrive?" asked Jackson.

"Hard to say with civilians," admitted Lambert. "She should be here in time for the alien briefings. I'm not going to worry about it yet. Anything else?" No one raised any objections at the moment. "Good. Report to the puke chamber at 1500 hours for our first lesson about operations in outer space. Dismissed."

The soldiers began to file out of the meeting room. Bull Carver leaned in close to John Lone Wolf as they exited through the doors. "We are so fucked," said Bull. Lone Wolf just nodded sadly at the simple, yet utterly voluminous statement and continued walking.


	3. Dr Hardin arrives

Lambert stumbled into his quarters and fell down on top of the bunk. He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stop the room from spinning. It didn't quite work. During the past couple of days, his team had been going through intensive zero-G combat training, and while the exercises had been going well, prolonged exposure to what had lovingly been dubbed the "puke chamber" could lead to a period of disorientation afterwards. Lambert, like the other soldiers, was tired and sore, but they were professionals, and were beginning to mesh into a true team. He just hoped they would grow cohesive enough in the short time that remained before the start of the mission. There was still a great deal of work to do.

The weary sergeant was on the edge of dozing off when a knock sounded on the door. Lambert groaned softly then hoisted himself to his feet. "Come in," he said. A corporal appeared in the doorway, looking slightly apologetic.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Sergeant Lambert, but you said you wanted to be notified when Dr. Hardin arrived on the base. She is here."

Lambert rubbed his eyes. "Swell," he said. "Lead on, Corporal. There's no sense in putting it off any longer." The two soldiers walked side by side through the labyrinth of twisting hallways. "Did you get to meet the good doctor?" asked Lambert.

"Yes, I did," said the corporal. He paused for a long moment as he ordered his thoughts. "She didn't seem very pleased with anything. She began snapping at General Smith the moment she entered his office door." General Alphonse Smith was the base commander, and was known for being a superb diplomat. If anyone could calm down an irate civilian, it was him. The corporal led Lambert to one of the innumerable offices dotting the building, and stopped outside the closed door. "The doctor is inside. Good luck," said the soldier with a half-hearted grin before he turned and returned to whatever duty from which he had been called.

Lambert frowned and steeled himself for a probable confrontation. He opened the door and walked inside. A woman was standing with her back toward him. She was leaning on one hip, with her arms crossed, and fingers drumming silently on one bicep, while she stared out a large window facing the inner workings of the base. Lambert assumed this was Dr. Hardin. He cleared his throat, and she glanced over her shoulder at him.

"Yes?" she asked, and Lambert felt the ice in her tone.

"I'm Sergeant Lambert, ma'am. I am the head of the security team which will accompany you on the Psion mission."

Hardin scowled, her upper lip curling into a sneer, as she regarded Lambert with unmitigated hostility. "Let's get one thing straight, Sergeant," she spat. "You and your gorillas are not wanted or needed on this scientific excursion." Hardin began to pace around the room, like an angry tiger stuck in a cage. "If I did not need the government's assistance to reach the Psions, which is ridiculous anyway since it would be much easier for them to land here on Earth where we could greet them properly, I can assure you a pack of trigger happy goons would not be allowed anywhere near **my **expedition. Your very presence as a part of this operation offends me." She stared defiantly at the career soldier, almost daring him to speak in his own defense.

Lambert was speechless for a moment, taken aback by Hardin's venom. He has expected a certain level of coolness, a disdain for the military that some academics, for whatever reason, possessed, but he was not prepared for an outright frontal assault full of anger. "Dr. Hardin," he began slowly. "I appreciate your openness and willingness to cooperate with us, but you simply don't understand--" As soon as the words passed his lips, Lambert knew he had made a mistake. Hardin narrowed her eyes, and Lambert could see the heat boiling inside of them.

"What I understand, Sergeant, is that we have an opportunity to establish a working relationship with an advanced alien species, one that evidently sees us as worthy of the effort, and that could be jeopardized by the appearance of an armed squad of soldiers at the first official contact between races."

"You're naïve," said Lambert

"You're paranoid," returned Hardin.

Lambert stopped, and gathered himself. Biting his tongue did not come naturally to him, but he did it before things got out of hand, and irreparable damage was caused to the mission. He was acutely aware, now, of the gulf between himself and Hardin. "Dr. Hardin," he said slowly and softly. "We are in the midst of training for zero gravity and space travel. I would advise you to participate so you can get a feel for what we will be going through when we leave Earth in a few days. We will be suiting up for space simulation at 1500 hours." Hardin dismissed him with a wave of her hand. Lambert turned on his heel and marched out the door. He was a professional soldier, and his face betrayed nothing, but inside, Lambert was steaming.

He returned to the training area just before 3 o'clock, considerably calmed. Lambert decided to focus on the training, and let the Hardin situation fester on the back burner for awhile. As it turned out, things did not go as planned. Lambert wasn't that surprised.

The rest of the team had already gathered inside the locker room and were occupied with strapping on their orange and black space suits. Bull Carver looked up as Lambert entered. "So, how was the meeting with the doc?"

"How do you know about that?"

"C'mon, that's an insult," said Malcolm Evans. "We are high speed, low drag soldiers. It's our job to know stuff."

"Huh," grunted Lambert as he went to his locker and began to drag out his equipment. "She is a piece of work. Hopefully, she will stay out of our way so we can do our jobs."

"Told you," said Evans, turning toward Lone Wolf. "He blew it. Pay up." Lone Wolf just shook his head in resignation and placed a five dollar bill to Evans' outstretched hand.

"What the hell is that all about?" demanded Lambert.

"Nothing personal, Lambert," said Evans. "It just seemed that the situation called for someone with a diplomatic touch, something you ain't got. Wolf was the only other motherfucker here that believed in your ability to make nice with a civilian, and now he's poorer because of it. None of these other chumps would take my bet." Miller snickered in the background.

"Fuck all of you," said Lambert. "You weren't face to face with the beast."

"The beast, huh?" scoffed Pierce. "I heard she was hot."

"Did you?" enquired Lambert.

"Smokin," affirmed Pierce. "Dark blond hair, blue eyes, and a pair of legs that went all they way up to a nice, round juicy ass."

"That true, Lambert?" asked Bull.

"Don't know, Bull," said Lambert, pulling his suit onto one leg. "I was too busy dodging her fangs and claws."

"Are my ears burning?" The soldiers turned as one to see Dr. Hardin standing the doorway, arms crossed and looking slightly put out.

"Dr. Hardin," said Lambert hurriedly as he finished putting on his suit. "I'm glad you decided to join us for the exercise."

"Spare me the pleasantries and any introductions," said Hardin. "I am only here because I have no experience with space travel. I am not here to praise the warrior elite or marvel at your weapons expertise like some drooling schoolgirl. I will familiarize myself with the life support equipment, and escape simulations, but that will be it. I have important work that needs to be done before we leave."

"Okay," said Lambert, looking around. "Miller, will you help Dr. Hardin into her suit?"

"Why would I want to do that?" asked Gwen Miller, with a touch of frost.

"Because you are the only other woman assigned to this mission, and Dr. Hardin might be more comfortable with you showing her the intricacies of the space suit," replied Lambert.

"Sorry," said Miller, her eyes never leaving Hardin. "I have to go work on keeping my warrior elite status. You're the civilian liaison, you deal with the good doctor." She picked up her assault rifle and marched out the door, and never looked back. The rest of the squad followed, although Evans did smirk at Lambert in passing.

"Looks like its just you and me, doc," said Lambert, running his hand thorough his short hair. "What say we try and make the best of things, and get through this without killing one another."

"Whatever," said Hardin, as she walked over to a suit hanging inside a locker. "Will this one fit me?"

"Yes, ma'am," replied Lambert. They are one-size-fits-all, the rest is just adjustment." He watched Hardin take the suit down and try to wrestle her way into it. Reluctantly, Lambert went to her aid when she got to a sticking place. Trying to touch Hardin as little as possible, the sergeant finally got her operational, and gave Hardin a quick lesson in how to seal the suit, breathe and check her air regulation. Satisfied, Lambert sealed his own suit and he motioned Hardin to follow him into the zero-grav chamber. "_I hope to God she removes the board from her ass before we leave Earth," _thought Lambert, "_or this is going to be one bitch of a mission."_


End file.
